


i don't know where to put my hands

by bisexualbluesargent



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: M/M, Past Abuse, whale island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28597722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualbluesargent/pseuds/bisexualbluesargent
Summary: It was on the tenth day of being on Whale Island that Killua fell ill.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 17
Kudos: 120





	i don't know where to put my hands

**Author's Note:**

> tw: this is mostly about dealing with emotional and physical abuse, so please keep that in mind
> 
> everyone deserves love and happiness, okay

It was on the tenth day of being on Whale Island that Killua fell ill.

Killua knew. He knew he didn’t belong there. It was a nice, quaint house with windows that let in all the sunlight and a garden where Mito would plant flowers he didn’t know the names of. Gon knew all the names, of course, because Gon was someone who did belong there, his bedroom full of gold and his smile, always his smile, big like he didn’t know shame, or at least hadn’t learned it in the same ways Killua did, he was sure.

Killua was not made right. He was sure of this because he didn’t know what exactly to say around Mito or Gon’s grandmother and he always flinched when they handed them something. He had to lock himself in the bathroom for a while when Mito raised her voice a little at Gon for not doing the dishes, even though it was only because he was across the house and he couldn’t have heard her otherwise. He felt so weak. He'd never reacted like this before. He was starting to realize that his family was kind of fucked up, not in even in the romantic, strange sort of way that he’d used to tell himself to feel better. He used to think they were the way they were because that was the only way they could be the best, the strongest. But Gon was strong, and he was happy, and so Killua wasn’t sure anymore. 

“Killua,” Mito said, and her voice was so sweet and Killua felt like he wasn’t meant to hear it. These days were good. He was always out with Gon, and they’d fight and laugh and Gon would show him his favorite beaches, ones with no one else, and they’d eat sandwiches Mito had made for them, and one time Killua had cried while eating one, and Gon had noticed, hadn’t even made fun of him for it, just watched him with this curious, forlorn expression until he’d asked him if he wanted a hug. Killua had refused, of course.

“Killua,” Mito said again, and he looked at her, eyes wide despite himself. His brain was all fuzzy. He felt faint. He wasn’t the type to get sick. He wasn’t supposed to get sick. All day he’d felt off and had ignored it, because that was what he did. Gon had noticed, though, had given Mito this look he’d probably thought was sly as he stuffed himself full with potatoes, silently telling her to prod him.

“Yeah?” Killua said, and he’d kept his voice level and everything, he was so proud.

“Are you feeling all right, dear?” Mito had this look of concern that made him want to run. He wasn’t supposed to be pitied. He was supposed to-

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, trying for a smile, but Mito just frowned at him over the dinner table. Before Killua could stop him, Gon had reached over and placed the back of his hand to Killua’s forehead.

“Oh, he has a fever,” said Gon, also frowning. “Killua, you need to rest!”

“He can take your bed, Gon,” said Mito immediately. “Killua, do you feel anything else? Any other symptoms?”

Killua gave her his most serene look. “I’m fine, I swear.” 

Gon was looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “It’s all right, Killua. Everyone gets sick once in a while.” He seemed like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t.

“I’m going to make you some tea,” said Mito kindly, getting up with her plate. “And then you’re going straight to bed, all right?” 

Killua refused to move any part of his body, perhaps on instinct. He thought of Gon’s hand, pressed against his forehead, and wanted to cry. Some part of him wanted to become small, very small, so small that he would be invisible, so he could retreat to somewhere he could be alone, where no one could see him for a long time. 

“What’s wrong, child,” said Gon’s grandmother, who had been studying him for minutes, and Killua didn’t meet her eyes, just shook his head. Everyone was treating it like such a normal occurrence, Mito hadn’t even batted an eye, had given him Gon’s bed. He had taken Gon’s bedon some nights anyway. Gon had offered. Gladly. 

Killua imagined the place he would retreat to, if he could go anywhere, pictured a white room where he could scream. He'd come out of there grinning, snarkily saying something to Gon that would let him know it was okay, he was fine, they could go run outside in the evening rain, splash each other as it drizzled. He wished it was that easy. Killua wished he was easier to love.

He said so, the next day, when his fever had reached his peak and his brain had been all scrambled. “Never been sick like this,” he mumbled, when Gon handed him a glass of water, the wind running its gentle hand across the grass outside the window.

“Really?” Gon said amiably. “I’ve gotten tons of colds. Aunt Mito says it’s because I sometimes go swim in the lake when it’s too late in the year, but sometimes I don’t do it and I still get sick, so I always go anyway.” He gave Killua a grin. “Jus’ happens.”

“I’m not supposed to, though,” said Killua, almost desperately. He tried sitting up and felt a pang in his head, a spear of a headache. “I’m not- supposed-“

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Gon slowly. “Everyone gets sick. It’s not your fault.” His voice was serious, like this was something important, but Killua’s head hurt too much to really know.

Killua laid back. Mito had come in with a bowl of soup, but he couldn’t process it. He felt like he was fading in and out of consciousness, and the lack of control felt nice, somehow. 

The next few moments were quiet as Mito arranged the bowl of soup on Gon’s lovely little bedside table and Gon tried to adjust Killua’s blankets. Killua liked them. He liked Gon. He thought about this for a while, soothed by their presence and the sun, the sun, the sun, embracing him through the window, the mother he’d never had.

“I wish I was easy to love,” Killua said after a while, smiling at Gon, because this was his compliment, he felt good about telling him. “Like you.” He watched Gon’s expression flit around, unsure.

“Oh, Killua,” said Mito, from the side of him, her voice so, so sad. “Killua.” She brushed his hair back with his hand, and he was surprised then, that it felt nice, it felt great.

“Oh,” was all he said in return, and Gon was crying, he could hear it, and he felt terrible now, because it was his fault. “Idiot,” he said weakly, something he’d said millions of times, easy peasy, “why are you crying?”

“We love you,” said Gon, and Killua suddenly felt very, very young, younger than he’d felt in his entire life- he’d had to grow up quick, you see, he’d had to be the best there ever was. A killer. In his nightmares, it wasn’t the whips or the chains or the shackles, really, it was the smiles his brother and his mother and his father had given him after he’d done something truly horrible. It was the way they were disappointed when he acted like a kid or when he’d done something wrong without knowing how to be something right. When he was four, he’d had a bad dream and wet the bed and his mother had screamed at him until he’d learned to clean it himself. And so he’d stopped wetting the bed. And so he’d gained a few years, wasn’t four anymore. But the longer since that day he’d left, the more he stopped remembering. He kind of wanted it to stop. He kept forgetting. He’d been losing a lot of his early years, deep down in his brain. A lot. Sometimes he couldn’t remember what exactly had happened, in certain cases, couldn’t remember what his brothers had been like when he was five. It felt like his mind was filling up with memories of fishing and laughter and fighting with Gon, with staying at his house, taking the boat there, and he wanted to remember, to remind himself what he was, bad, evil, something made to hurt others, don’t feel, Killua, feelings are bad and make trouble for the rest of us, that was something he knew, but now he was forgetting, sometimes, what he was supposed to be.

What was he supposed to do with all of these new parts of him? He had flashbacks, sometimes, to his room in the mansion, alone at night, not crying, never crying, because someone would hear, he’d learned to be quiet and make no fuss and then everyone was happy, great, he wouldn’t have to stress. His room that felt too big, gave him too much time to think. Gon didn’t give him that much time to think. He was always whispering right before they fell asleep- _do you want to go to the river tomorrow, do you want to try to ask Aunt Mito for her stereo in the morning, we can go play it near the water- hey Killua,_ he’d say, and then he’d make a stupid, funny noise and Killua would throw a pillow at him with a snort. Killua was so, so scared that Gon would just leave, one day. That he’d get bored of him, or that Killua would say something too mean, on accident, because that was how he was _made,_ and that Gon would realize he was friends with a monster. But he never did. And Killua didn’t know if he was doing it right. The friend thing. He knew other people had sleepovers and played video games. He used to play video games with Milluki, when he was way younger, until Milluki had thrown a controller at his head so hard he’d started bleeding. None of them were made right. It was unfair. He had always reveled in how broken he was. _That’s our strength,_ Illumi had always said. _We’re not like anyone else._ And now Killua suddenly felt so- so-

“I love you, Killua. You’re my best friend,” Gon was saying, and it was comical, the way the snot was falling out of his nose, his words all pressed together like old pals. When Gon cried, his whole body shook, like it was coming out of every part of him. When Killua cried, it was like something had escaped from inside him without his permission. Barely there. 

Gon was blubbering on. “Don’t worry, Aunt Mito’s making you tea with honey, it’s really good, and then soon we can go out to see the turtle nests again, I prom-“

Killua couldn’t really think straight. “Love you too, Gon,” he said, eyes closing. Mito was still petting his head, and she started to sing a little lullaby, and he hadn’t had someone sing one to him before, so he smiled softly and said, “Thank you,” his headache fading just a tiny bit, starting to fall asleep when he felt Gon’s hand fall lightly over his. “You’re going to get sick, stupid,” he managed to mutter, tearing up and scarcely realizing it.

“Nah,” said Gon, voice cracking. “Well, if I do, we’ll be sick together,” he said, and Killua could hear it, could hear his smile.


End file.
